


Lipstick Marks Still on your Coffee Cup.

by HiyaGaz



Category: Take That, gary barlow - Fandom
Genre: Coffee, Coffee Shops, F/M, Just smut, Smut, hardcore smut, it's just smut disguised as coffee, mild spanking I guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-16
Updated: 2015-03-16
Packaged: 2018-03-18 05:13:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3557321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HiyaGaz/pseuds/HiyaGaz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been 28 days since you stormed out of Gary's house. And now he wants to meet for coffee. But it's just coffee. Right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lipstick Marks Still on your Coffee Cup.

**Author's Note:**

> Here there be smut,  
> Oh so much smut.  
> Enjoy x

It will only be coffee.  
Thats what i told myself when i stopped the seventh phone call within the hour from going to voicemail.  
Its just one cup of coffee.  
Is what i whispered in response to the unrelenting plea that tickled down the phone in a sinful concoction of gravelly rich audible chocolate, making me question why i had ever left.  
Its just coffee, i can leave whenever i want.  
Was what i told myself as i shed my black Burberry mac and hung it over the back of the tall arm chair, tucked away in the most secluded corner of the family run coffee shop. He was waiting, sat down opposite after taking the liberty to choose the seat that faced away from the lunch time bustle of people for himself. He was already fingering the rim of his coffee cup- no sugar with a dash of skimmed milk- when i ordered a cappuccino to-go.  
"You look good."  
"Its just coffee." I push out on the most convincing breath i can manage when my eyes rake over his devastatingly handsome face. Slightly dishevelled and sexy as hell. The white shirt tells me clearly he has business to attend to, but the fact his mobile lies upturned and discarded on the table signifies that it cant be more important than coffee.  
"Damn it Libby, you look so good."  
Im alarmed by his tone, and the way he brings a fist down to his knee before dragging it across the side of his cheek. I hear the scratch of the stubble beneath his fingers and wonder what it would feel like back between my thighs again. I cross my legs a little tighter, the stretch of my black pencil skirt riding up to my mid-thigh under the strain. Gary isnt discrete about staring. Im about to tell him that its only coffee, but the small yet wide barista interrupts to place my cappuccino on the knee high coffee table between us.  
"Come back." He states blandly, taking a sip of coffee before lowing the cup decisively back into the saucer. For a man of apparent desperation, he doesn't show it. Not until hes naked, slick with sweat and shouting my name with any number of expletives at a time. Thats usually how it goes anyway, before it was just coffee. "I need you. I need you to come back."  
"This is just coffee." I state again, because theyre the only four words i know how to say at the moment.  
"What the fuck is that suppose to mean?" He bites back, uncrossing his legs and leaning forward, elbows on knees as he lowers his voice more octaves than should be possible. "There are no conversational rules here. It might be a coffee shop but i didnt come to discuss the fucking fine grind coffee beans of the Kenyan boarders. Im here to tell you to come back."  
I swallow, the rich agitation in his tone striking a chord with the desperate yearning unfurling below my stomach. I unfold my legs and then cross them again, but it doesnt alleviate the pressure and so all i can do is hope that he doesnt notice my nails clawing desperately at the hem of my skirt for some form of relief.

"It doesnt have to be just coffee." He murmurs, as if reading my mind. But then again, he was always good at that. I watch his forearms flex, the freshly tanned skin showcased by the sleeves of his shirt being rolled up to his elbows. "Just how tightly are you pressing those sexy thighs together right now, Darling?" His eyebrow dances in his hairline as he takes another sip of coffee, swallowing slowly with intention and when he licks his lips i know we're both imagining something else. And in that moment there are two thoughts circulating my mind.  
A) I hate him.  
B) I wish i had worn tights, or something, anything, to stem the thick flow of arousal coating the inside of my thigh.  
"Come back with me," He doesnt wait for my response before he carries on, "And ill do something about this.." He leans over the coffee table quicker than i can pull away, pushing a hand up my thigh with firm fingers until he finds what hes after.  
"This isnt fucking coffee." I hiss without stopping the thumb that circles tortuously against my sodden core and when he pulls away too soon, hes grinning like the Cheshire cat, slipping the thumb between his lips and sucking slowly.  
"No." He agrees with a rumbling hum, still sucking on the evidence of my arousal. "This isnt."

It was just coffee.  
Is what i told myself as i slammed the taxi door and teetered up the drive way i hadnt set foot on in 28 days. I had stormed out with him on my back and breathing down my neck; i hadnt expected to return in the same manner. We reach the door and im glad of the collar of my mac, providing some form of barrier against my sensitive flesh and his heavy breath as he stretches an arm over my shoulder to slip the key into the lock.  
Its a satisfyingly snug fit and turns with a resolute click. The only sound i hear before the slam of it being shut again.  
And then his mouth is on me, on my cheek, my neck and my mouth; and his hands are around my face and im being forced backwards against the other side of the door. And im pinned there, able to do nothing but moan at my own lack of self control as he grinds the raging bulge of his trousers against the stiff fabric of my skirt.  
When he pulls away, arms bracketing my head as he leers down at me, panting hard and looking lost, i find my strength and duck before straightening again outside of the confinement of his arms.  
"We need to talk." I mutter, the red soles of my shoes clacking against the laminate floor as i make towards the kitchen straight ahead. I just have chance to put down my cappuccino before my movement is halted by two hands. One on my waist, the other snaking under my bust as his mouth is pressed to my ear.  
"We'll talk later. You didnt come here to talk and i didnt bring you here to talk either."  
I groan when the hand on my waist slips under the thin material of my mac, smoothing over the skirt covered curve of my arse. "You know, i used to have fantasies of you turning up on my doorstep wearing nothing but this mac, those shoes and some tiny black underwear."  
I moan again, hating myself for arching back into his touch and wishing he'd do something about the dull ache of my heavy breasts. And then the zipper of my skirt screams before the fabric pools at my feet. I step one foot out of it and my ass becomes the recipient of a sharp smack as the mac is folded over my back. With another groan, im folding over and bracing my arms on the counter top, pushing the black lace clad object towards him and wondering how many coffee dates end like this. Another smack, and then a third. Each one ricocheting off the tiled kitchen and echoing into the distance.

"Jesus." The low groan that rumbles through his chest is the next thing i hear as two long and all too familiar fingers slip beneath the pointless and subsequently drenched scrap of fabric between my legs. "You want this so bad."  
The only response i can muster is a mewling cry.  
"Why did you meet me for coffee?" His breath is at my ear again as he doubles over me, his erection pressing hard and heavy against my aching centre through his trousers. For a moment, i forget how to speak, until another loud smack sends words tumbling from my lips.  
"I thought we should talk." ..It was just meant to be coffee.  
"Bullshit." Is his answer, and he pulls away just long enough to push his trousers down to his ankles. "You want this as much as i do. Thats why youre here. No one can give it any better. -Jesus Libby..." My name is half a plea as he whines it against my neck, rubbing his cock through the warmth of my arousal, one thumb expertly holding the lace of my knickers out of the way. "..you give it so good."  
Any resolve i had left crumbles then, and i claw to no prevail at the smooth surface of the work top, my rung out moan reminding me of my lack of self control.  
"Tell me why you came for coffee." It is a grunt not to be argued with as he works a hand forward and under my chin, pulling my head back and arching my back in a way that makes me mewl anew a he slips the head of his dick between my folds.  
"For this." The sentence slips unregistered from my lips, but it does not go unrewarded as Gary surges into my with an animalistic groan and the desperation of a man starved. The pace is unrelenting from the start and my hips wail in protests as they bang unceremoniously against the work top. He doesnt care though, hes only chasing his release. We both are, and the race to the finish is well as truly on as he tightens his hold on both my neck and my arse, my answering move being to push my hips back to meet his, punishing thrust for punishing thrust. And then, with a wanton cry on my part as his fingers slip down to the only stop that reduces me to such a state, i come, hard, clawing and grinding and moaning and tightening so much so that i barely register him following me, blurting out a string of curses on a hoarse breath.

And now the coffee is cold and sits on the counter top, forgotten and stained with red lipstick.  
It would never have been just coffee.


End file.
